


Behind Closed Drawers

by lockedin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Clothing Kink, Crossdressing, Dildos, Dog Tags, Established Relationship, Fetish Clothing, Fingerfucking, Lingerie, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They’d done some weird stuff in the past, at least by John’s standards and experience. Toys, bondage, even the riding crop a couple of times. This, though? This took the cake.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>After a week away from Baker Street, John returns home to find Sherlock in a compromising position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Drawers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anon_fangirl23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anon_fangirl23/gifts).



> Thanks to the fabulous [Em](http://xspartan09.tumblr.com/) for being my beta on this. And thanks to the punny [Jackie](http://pkmndaisuki.tumblr.com/) for the title.
> 
> Based on this fantastic piece of yum (click for OP/larger version and details):  
>    
> [ ](http://anon-fangirl.tumblr.com/post/27745460302/simpleandhumblejohnwatson-asked-for-penis)

John abandoned his case in the downstairs hall—he couldn’t be bothered lugging it up the stairs just then—and took the stairs two at a time. His pace faltered, though, when he caught the scent of tobacco. He shoved the door to 221B open, and his homecoming after a stifling week at Harry’s took a drastic turn.

The first thing his gaze settled on was not the ashtray on the coffee table, the one Sherlock had nicked from Buckingham Palace ages ago, now filled with ash and four cigarette butts. That would register later, along with the red Japanese fan beside it. Instead, John was caught up in the image of his partner reclined on the couch wearing nothing but stockings, black lace knickers, and garter straps attaching the two. Sherlock’s legs were bent up to his chest, the back of the knickers pushed aside to allow a purple dildo entrance. The toy was embedded deeply in Sherlock’s arse. He was breathing heavily, erection pressing against the dark, but sheer fabric encasing it. He looked utterly debauched, but a crisp shock washed over him as John stumbled into the room.

However, the first thing John could manage to squeak out with some manner of indignation was, “Are you wearing my dog tags?” With his free hand, that is the hand not occupied with shoving the dildo up his arse, Sherlock was clutching the metal chain and the tags attached to it.

“John,” Sherlock cried in surprise, although it sounded more like a whimper. He panted through every word. “You were scheduled to return tomorrow.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” John said in a strangled voice. Surprise indeed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sherlock, though they flickered over every inch of him. It had been quite some time since the two had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, but at that moment that’s exactly where they were.

Sherlock worked his mouth to speak again. “I-”

John slammed the door shut and pivoted on the pads of his feet, practically yelping the word _shower_ as he darted through the kitchen.

Once behind the closed door of the bathroom, John leaned heavily against it. He tried to focus on showering, which had been his plan upon coming home. At least after snogging the life out of Sherlock. They hadn’t been apart for that long since they became involved, but while he was at Harry’s, he had felt like being a pining teenager all over again, longing for Sherlock as badly has he had. He had relished their late night conversations, but it wasn’t near enough. Now that he was home, a day early at that, with the sight that greeted him forever seared into the back of his eyelids, John’s mind was in a haze.

He stripped off layer after layer. He should’ve done this in the bedroom where had a place to put the clothes, but the only article he cared about not dirtying was the navy scarf Sherlock had lent him for his trip. This he hung reverently on the door handle; everything else ended up in a pile under the sink.

Once under the hot water, soothing at least to his body as it washed away the January chill, John tried to puzzle through what he had seen on the couch. Definitely Sherlock. Definitely the purple dildo, which Sherlock had in the past claimed was the closest feeling to having John’s cock inside him, after the real thing. John never quite believed him on that, but it was oddly flattering to think that at least he was trying to imitate part of John’s presence during their separation.

Right, so definitely Sherlock and definitely Sherlock’s favourite dildo. John was pretty sure those were definitely his dog tags as well. Where had he even put them last? Had Sherlock looked for them? Or randomly come across them while nosing around John’s things? That thought aggravated John and he scrubbed a little too roughly at his scalp. It’s not that he had anything to hide from Sherlock, and personal space really didn’t exist between them these days, but couldn’t the man exercise some manners and ask? Or, at the very least, he could have told John after the fact.

His annoyance brought him back to what had first caused him concern as he made his way up the stairs: the tobacco. The ashtray was there, definitely containing ash and finished off cigarettes. This sent John into a silent rage, and only when he pressed too hard into his shoulder did he wince back to coherent thought. So Sherlock had been smoking while he was out of town. The whole week? How many a day? The details weren’t important, not at the moment. The fact was, he’d broken his old promise and it made John sick. For a moment he leaned against the shower wall and bit his bottom lip hard. He felt like crying. He actually felt like crying and vomiting. He wanted to shake Sherlock and scream at him and hold him all at once. Had his absence been so hard on Sherlock? Was Sherlock just waiting for a chance to break his word without John knowing? No, John couldn’t believe that one. He couldn’t accept that Sherlock just didn’t care.

When he felt composed enough, John began rinsing off. He recounted his list so far before finally coming to the last, but most striking one: Sherlock in drag. There wasn’t really another word John could come up with to easily describe the clothes, little though there may have been. He gradually brought back the image of those firm calves and thighs sheathed in delicate fabric, the hard cock begging for release. Had there been a damp spot there?

John glanced down to find his own prick was far from flaccid now. “Shit,” he grumbled to himself. He shut off the tap and retrieved his towel. What was he going to find out in the parlour? Had Sherlock finished off? Retreated silently to the bedroom? No, he would have to face John if he did that. Maybe he was waiting for John to go in there so he could have the bathroom himself, strip off that ridiculous attire and pull himself off before confronting John again.

John swallowed and ran his teeth across his swollen lower lip. They’d done some weird stuff in the past, at least by John’s standards and experience. Toys, bondage, even the riding crop a couple of times. This, though? This took the cake. Sherlock had been kind about gradually introducing John to each of his many fantasies and fetishes, but ladies’ underwear? There was no way John could have seen that coming. And yet, like each kink before, there was only a mild trepidation about this. His body certainly wasn’t complaining about the imagery.

He towelled his hair and patted himself dry before wrapping the towel around his waist, hoping to at least partly obscure his own growing erection. Hopefully Sherlock would be in less of an observing mood, as he often was when he had something rammed up his arse.

John plucked up the scarf and draped it across his neck to keep it out of the lingering damp of the bathroom. He had every intention of going straight to the bedroom to dress, but curiosity dragged him slowly through the kitchen and into the parlour. He was stunned to find Sherlock had barely moved since he had turned tail and bolted. The dildo was out, and Sherlock had lowered his legs so his feet were on the couch, but everything else was the same. He was still gripping John’s tags, still breathing hard. His eyes were closed now, though, as if he was trying very hard to focus.

“Sherlock?” John swallowed and took a tentative few steps, which brought him beside the front door.

Sherlock’s face contorted almost painfully. He took a moment before opening his eyes. “I apologize for startling you,” he said breathily. “I did not anticipate your early return. I am, however, glad of it.”

John couldn’t help but grin stupidly at the last remark. He covered the rest of the distance and bent over to kiss Sherlock’s brow. He felt wet fingertips on his jaw. He started to wonder when he remembered the dildo. There was probably a bottle of lube around here somewhere.

“John,” Sherlock practically moaned his name. “Would you be willing to assist me? Unless my current attire disturbs you.”

John chuckled and teased Sherlock’s curls with his fingers. “It’s certainly one of the strangest predicaments I’ve found you in.”

Sherlock took a fistful of his scarf and pulled John down. But John could taste the stale smoke before their lips even touched. He grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and pulled away. His disgust must have been evident because Sherlock looked entirely ashamed and hurt. “I see,” he said quietly and started to struggle into a sitting position. “I’ll go take care-”

John pressed his fingertips on Sherlock’s chest and pushed him back on the couch. “No, not that.” John sighed and squatted beside the couch. He rubbed his hand across Sherlock’s collarbone and nodded to the ashtray.

“Oh. Of course.” Now Sherlock wouldn’t look at him. He was completely chastised, and John hadn’t needed to say a thing. Somehow that made John feel a little better.

“We’ll have to discuss this later,” he said and brushed Sherlock’s chin with his thumb. “For now, no kissing should be enough of a punishment.”

Sherlock’s eyes glistened. “You mean you still intend to fuck me?”

John laughed hard enough that he rocked back and fell on his arse. “With you looking like this? Love, I’d have to be a saint not to ravish you right now.” Sherlock’s chest rumbled under John’s hand. He grabbed John’s hand and tried to bring his fingers to his mouth, but John pulled away, stern again for a moment. “No mouth, not until you won’t cover me in that smell.” Sherlock started to protest, but when John stood and feigned leaving him in his current state, he snapped his mouth shut. John removed the towel and let it drop to the floor. Sherlock’s eyes practically popped and his fingers flexed.

He practically whined when John started to remove the scarf, though. “Keep it on?”

“Really?” John looked at the end of the scarf in his hand.

“Please. It looks so lovely on you, especially while that’s all your wearing.” He licked his lips and smirked.

John brought the fabric to his face and inhaled deeply, as he’d done many times at night before going to sleep while he was away. It still smelled like Sherlock. “Alright,” he said.

“Good,” Sherlock huffed. “I don’t mean to sound rushed, but I’ve been like this much too long now.”

“Oh?” John covered every centimetre of Sherlock with a lustful gaze. Sherlock whimpered, and John hadn’t even touched him yet. “Let’s see what we have here, then.” He moved onto the couch and kneeled between Sherlock’s legs. John traced the contours of sinewy muscle on his arms and chest. He lingered over the dog tags. “Where did you find these?”

“In your old closet,” Sherlock panted. “You’re probably upset I went through your things.”

“Just ask me next time,” John said absently as he fingered the bits of metal. He shook his head. “But why?”

“You had my scarf,” Sherlock said impatiently.

“But my dog tags? You could’ve worn one of my jumpers or something.”

“I did,” Sherlock said. He was starting to sound almost irritated. “But these are more personal.”

John smiled. “Sherlock Holmes, is that sentiment you’re showing?”

Sherlock growled. “If I say yes, will you fuck me already?”

“Hm, maybe. You haven’t been behaving, though, have you?” His fingers found the edge of the soft knickers and tugged them down just enough to expose the head of Sherlock’s cock. Sure enough, pre-ejaculate had smeared between the fabric and skin. John kissed the warm flesh and licked his lips before covering Sherlock back up. “We’ll just keep that safely tucked in there for now, shall we?” The sound Sherlock gave in response made John’s own cock twitch excitedly.

John moved instead to Sherlock’s inner thigh, brushing his lips there for a moment before kissing firmly up to the edge of the stockings. He fingered the braces and managed to unclip them. He pulled the stockings up past the knee and continued his ministrations. Once at the top, he nibbled his way back down until he could breathe in the scent of the bulge pressing against his cheek. He moved to the other leg, removing the braces first this time and edging the stocking back. When he reached this knee and started back down with his teeth, John sneaked his fingers under the knickers where they had already been stretched and swirled them at Sherlock’s wet opening. Sherlock gasped and bucked, pressing his clothed cock and balls into John’s face. John couldn’t help but giggle and, with his other hand, pushed Sherlock’s hips back down.

Before John went any further, he used his free hand to wrap Sherlock’s scarf around his neck so the ends fell across his back. Then he leaned forward again and pressed his open mouth at the base of Sherlock’s cock, breathing through the fabric. He wriggled two fingers inside Sherlock, who was still fairly loose from the dildo. Sherlock writhed and moaned, John’s name ending up in there somewhere. He squeezed his thighs around John’s head and plunged one hand into the short blonde hair.

John was surprised to find just how loose Sherlock was when he easily pressed a third finger inside him. Had he kept the dildo in until just before John walked in? It was possible to hear the shower from here, especially if it was quiet and one was listening for the sound of the tap shutting off. John had been in the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes at least. The idea of Sherlock lying prostrate and penetrated for that amount of time without release—John moaned against Sherlock’s cock as a pleasant shiver travelled through his whole body. Sherlock shuddered beneath him.

John dragged the pads of his fingers across Sherlock’s prostate as he pulled them out. Sherlock cried and shook beautifully. John leaned over him and kissed the dip of his neck, sucking and licking for a moment. He ran his tongue up Sherlock’s neck and nibbled his earlobe. “Where’s the lube?” John breathed into his ear.

Sherlock couldn’t even speak. He jerked his hand towards the coffee table. John spotted the bottle just underneath. Sherlock lowered his wobbly leg so John could lean over. Their pricks rubbed together in the process, with only that bare scrap of fabric between them, and Sherlock whined and clawed at John’s other arm. He grabbed the bottle and knelt upright again.

“Sh, love,” John muttered soothingly, lifting Sherlock’s leg back onto the couch again. He kissed the knee. Sherlock tried glaring at him, but the pure lust in his watery eyes betrayed him.

John administered the lube directly onto his cock. He put the bottle back on the floor and slicked himself up and down with slow strokes, making sure Sherlock could see. His other hand, which had been snatched by Sherlock a moment ago, was now twined with the other man’s fingers. Sherlock’s other hand was still gripping the dog tags.

“Need my hand,” John mumbled. Sherlock let go of John and grabbed the back of the couch, pitching his hips up shamelessly. John plucked at the lacy waistband for a moment. Then he left it as it was and traced his finger along the edge of the fabric where it hugged the curve of Sherlock’s arse. He pushed it aside and pressed the head of his cock just under Sherlock’s scrotum, which was still mostly covered. Sherlock squirmed and tried lifting himself higher. He shoved himself at John until his head was on the cushion rather than the armrest. John tried to take a moment to appreciate the sight, but he was just as wanting as Sherlock at this point. He shifted and breached Sherlock with the head.

Sherlock shoved himself onto John, sending sparks across John’s vision and making them both yelp and moan. John could hardly catch his breath before Sherlock tried fucking himself on him.

John grabbed Sherlock’s hips and forced him to be still. “Christ,” he gasped. “Give me a second.” Sherlock shook his head, though he refused to break eye contact. John reached up and brushed at the curls before stroking Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock nuzzled into John’s hand, eyelids heavily lidded for a moment. “Please,” he murmured into John’s palm. He bent his legs closer to his own torso. The invitation was impossible to ignore.

John pressed into Sherlock. He bent over and hugged Sherlock closer to him. For the first time since John came home, Sherlock released the dog tags and wrapped his gangly arms around his back. His fingers dug into John’s skin as John started thrusting into him. The ends of the scarf draped over them both.

Had it really been a week since they’d done this? It felt like a lifetime. He was surrounded by Sherlock, touch and smell and taste. John could hardly breathe, it washed over him so thoroughly. He realized Sherlock was moaning his name over and over again, almost hushed, like a prayer. John’s chest swelled and he combed his fingers roughly through Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock buried his face into John’s shoulder beside the scarf and bit down over his collarbone, tensing his entire body around him.

“Oh god, Sherlock,” John gasped. His hips bucked erratically and he fell apart. He jerked inside Sherlock, blinding euphoria drowning out noise and sight for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he was smothering Sherlock with his body. He started to rise so he could pull out, but Sherlock’s arms were still a vice around him, clutching John against himself. He was trembling.

John wrestled Sherlock’s arms loose. Trying not to wince at his tenderness, he pulled out and the elastic in the fabric fell loosely back into place as John’s come leaked into it. Sherlock shuddered all over again. John looked to find Sherlock had come inside the knickers, and it was spilling and seeping out onto their stomachs. John shifted so he wasn’t completely on top of Sherlock and hugged him close. He stroked Sherlock’s back until Sherlock relaxed and nestled into John’s arms. John kissed his forehead.

“That scarf most definitely suits you,” Sherlock murmured against John’s chest. John chuckled. “I missed you.”

It was ridiculous, but John’s chest fluttered. He tightened his arms around Sherlock, and Sherlock happily snuggled close to him. “Missed you, too,” he said.

“Sorry about the cigarettes.”

“Mm, withdrawal from sex?”

“From you,” Sherlock huffed, as if John was missing some supposedly obvious point in a case.

“That’s sweet, but don’t do it next time.” John kissed the top of his head.

“Don’t let there be a next time.” John laughed, burying his nose into Sherlock’s curls, and Sherlock smiled against his shoulder.


End file.
